Neva's heart hammers against her ribs—each thump a deafening roar in her ears. She chokes on a sob, breath hitching, and lunges for the doorknob with cold, trembling fingers.
A hand clamps around her wrist—tight, unyielding. Skin to skin, hot and invasive—pressing into her skin as if to crush the frantic pulse beneath.
She yelps as he whips her around, slamming her hard into the locked wooden door—the impact rattling through her bones.
"Let me go—" Her voice cracks, raw with fear. She twists, thrashing, but his hands only clamp harder, pinning her arms to the unyielding wood. "Please…" The word breaks apart, trembling, almost swallowed by the rush of her ragged breaths.
"Shut up!" Ishmael growls.
Neva whimpers, twisting her weakened body, her strength flickering beneath his brutal force.
His dark eyes lock on hers—shot through with red, veins spidering across the sclera. Mad. Furious. Almost inhuman.
His jaw trembles, muscles throbbing, tight with barely contained rage straining against the leash—ready to rip through his skin and devour.
She flinches as his mouth crashes down on hers—ravenous, consuming, furious.
Heat floods from him as he presses in harder, burning and choking, each movement a violent claim.
She twists weakly beneath him, her body caught and caged. Hot tears spill down her cheeks in an endless stream, sliding between them, salt stinging her lips.
His breath is hot, heavy, suffocating as his mouth drags down her neck, every movement steeped in violent hunger.
Neva turns away, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips quivering as a broken sob slips free.
Then—cutting through her own—a second sob reaches her. Smaller. Softer. Achingly familiar.
Her eyes flutter open, heavy and stinging. Through the dim amber glow spilling from the lamp on the nightstand, her blurred gaze drifts across the room… and stops.
In the far corner of the master bedroom, two tiny silhouettes are curled together, fragile shapes swallowed by shadow.
Inaya—and Isaiah. Her babies.
Neva shuts her eyes, heart twisting until she feels it might shred apart.
Pain. Remorse. Helplessness.
Her palms slide from Ishmael's chest and fall limp at her sides—a silent surrender.
She flinches as his sharp canines pierce her skin, the sting blooming deep, his heat searing through her chill.
"It was you who made me promise never to leave," he murmurs, his voice a low, groggy rasp, breath scalding against the frozen curve of her neck.
"And now you want me to take back my words?" His hand clamps around her jaw, jerking her face up until her eyes crash into his. A shadow of a smirk haunts across his lips, venom hidden in the curve.
"Hmm?" His fingers dig in—rough, calloused, unyielding—compressing her cheeks until her breath snags.
She squeezes her eyes shut… and the tears—born of numbness, emptiness, helplessness—slip free, hot against her cold skin, carving the silent shape of a surrender she can never take back.
---
Neva flinches awake with a soft gasp—her chest rising and falling heavily.
She lies still for a moment, unmoving, eyes fixed upward.
Her blurred vision wavers over the deep coffee-brown wooden ceiling above, as though the grain itself were shifting.
Her hand lifts shakily to her cheek. Warm. Wet. A faint trail of tears clings to her skin.
Her brows knit, the pounding in her chest echoes as her mind scrambles, grasping for the edges of what just happened.
It was a dream?
She draws in a shaky breath through chattering teeth as a sudden chill races down her spine.
The dream—so vivid, so fresh—as though it has followed her here, bleeding into the waking world.
It gnaws softly, persistently, at the edges of her mind, refusing to loosen its hold.
A nightmare spun from the blackest threads of her fears, laced with the scars of a past she has fought to survive…
and the quiet, corrosive terror that it might one day take form in flesh, unfurling before her eyes as the world she finally dared to reclaim shatters beyond her reach.
She blinks as the heavy arm around her waist tightens—firm, grounding.
A low, satisfied hum vibrates against the crook of her neck, the sound deep enough to travel through her skin.
His warmth presses closer, wrapping around her—safe, protective, home.
A faint smile softens Neva's lips as Rhett's breath—warm, steady, comforting—brushes over her skin, chasing away the last cold threads of the dream.
She shifts slightly, and he lets out a soft, sleepy whine, his arms tightening around her—as if afraid she might slip away.
"Shh… I'm not going anywhere," she whispers into his ear, a warm smile touching her lips.
She brushes the tousled morning curls from his forehead, her fingers lingering to trace the line of his face in a slow, gentle caress.
It was a dream—just a dream.
But this... this is her reality.
Nestled in the arms of her husband, with her babies sleeping safe just inches away, in the warmth and shelter of their home.
And beyond this fragile peace, the sermon waits—only three days away—a promise of hope, a beacon she clings to.
Neva closes her eyes and prays—prays gratitude that the nightmare has passed, leaving only this feeling of wholeness and warmth in the arms of her beloved husband.
She prays with her heart softened in faith, surrendering everything to the Father, asking Him to shelter them in His mighty hands.
A soft sigh escapes her as she pulls the warm, drifting duvet higher, cocooning them in its embrace.
Dawn breaks through the white lace curtains, casting a faint, silvery glow across the little room where she, her husband—and her children rest.
The frosty winter is coming. Mornings in their cottage, nestled deep in the woods, are quieter now. The birds that once greeted her at first light are gone—migrated to warmer skies.
Her ears catch a muffled, gentle hiss falling around the cottage.
Then, the soft patter on the roof—light, steady. Snow. The first fall of the season.
A small, fragile whimper threads through the hush, slipping between the gentle patter of falling snowflakes.
Neva's gaze drifts to the bed, where Inaya sleeps beside her brothers—Isaiah nestled in the middle, and her eldest child, Rhean, curled at the far edge, tucked safely against the pillow-guarded wall.
Inaya's brow is furrowed, lips quivering—as if chased by a nightmare.
She sleeps on the bed's edge, safely bordered by pillows propped along the sides.
Her features gradually smooth, and soft, shallow snores spill from her lips as she drifts back into peaceful sleep.
Neva exhales with quiet exhaustion as the duvet over the children slips away yet again. They never sleep still—especially Isaiah, who shifts endlessly through the night yet insists on sleeping in the middle.
Knowing her children well, she tucks them in wearing warm sweaters and socks.
She gently tries to slip free from Rhett's arms to adjust the children's covers, but he only pulls her closer.
"Please, stay," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
"I'll be back in a second," she whispers in reply.
"Where are you going—that it'll take a whole second?" he mumbles, voice muffled against her skin.
Neva lets out a soft, amused laugh.
"The children must be cold—and the duvet's slipped off them," she whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss into his hair.
Rhett grumbles in half-conscious protest, the sound low and rumbling against her. His lashes flutter open, and the moment his gaze finds hers, he sinks into the comfort of her warm, familiar cocoa eyes.
"I'll go," he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss over her lips before reluctantly peeling himself from her warmth.
The chill hits him instantly, goosebumps prickling across his skin as he shivers in his thin T-shirt and pajama bottoms.
Neva laughs as Rhett, still shivering, hastily snatches the children's duvet and tucks them in with tender care.
Then, without a second's hesitation, he slips back beneath the covers, the worn mattress groaning as it dips under his weight.
A boyish burst of joy escapes him—almost a squeal—as he burrows into her warmth, wrapping himself around her as if she's the only source of heat he needs.
He smiles, eyes crinkling with pure joy, as she presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Her giggle bubbles up when he buries his face in her chest, his heavy leg curling over her thighs—a quiet claim, tender and protective, as if he never intends to let go.
Rhett sighs, sinking deeper into her warmth, a mock exhaustion in his voice.
"It's hard being a parent," he murmurs with a theatrical sigh—though Neva can feel the gentle curve of his smile against her skin.
She laughs softly, brushing her fingers lightly along his arm.
"And you wanted four kids. Three enough for you already?" she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.
Rhett lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze, that dreamy, sheepish smile softening his features—his signature look that always melts Neva like candlelight.
"Do you remember everything about us?" he whispers, settling his head back against her chest, as if anchoring himself in her presence.
"All the beautiful, important ones," she murmurs, her fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns through his hair, each touch a silent promise.
"It's snowing, Rhett," she murmurs, eyes distant and dreamlike.
"And I remember the first fall of snow after we met."
He lifts his head slowly, searching her face, his gaze softening. "You do?"
She nods, a slow, tender smile spreading across her lips. "Uh-huh."
"Do you want to dance together in the snow again?" he asks, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
Neva chuckles softly. "Maybe sometime later. Right now," she whispers, rubbing their noses together. "I prefer this much better,"
Rhett's smile lingers, his lips parting to speak, when a sudden knock breaks the quiet.
The sound echoes softly through the room, a gentle ripple across their cocoon of warmth.
"What is it this early in the morning?" he groans, his voice low, meant only for her ears.
Neva frowns, a sudden wave of anxious numbness tightening in her chest. They never disturb them unless it's something urgent.
The knock comes again—more urgent this time, slicing through the fragile quiet like a sharp breath.
Rhett sits up, alert despite the haze of sleep, but already aching for her warmth.
"Boss," Ace's muffled voice comes through, urgent and foreboding.
Neva stirs, sitting up as Rhett rises and heads toward the door.
She stands on unsteady legs and crosses to the wardrobe against the wall.
The faint creak of their bedroom door sliding open drifts to her ears as her trembling fingers brush the fabric racks inside the wardrobe. She pulls free a thick shawl and a man's sweater, the coarse wool grazing her skin like a whisper of comfort against the chill creeping through the room.
"What is it?" Rhett's voice cuts through the quiet, low and sharp.
She snaps the wardrobe door shut and turns toward him, eyes searching the shadowed doorway.
She sees her husband's tense back, cold forgotten in the sudden surge of urgency.
Ace's eyes flicker to her as she steps closer, then snap back to Rhett, his face hard and grim.
"We got intel from Knight," Ace says, voice low but sharp. "Raka escaped."
Neva's breath catches, her feet rooted to the spot as if the weight of the news pins her down.
"What happened?" Rhett's voice drops low, grim, a flicker of anxious edge threading through it.
"It's unclear," Ace replies, eyes dark with worry. "Knight will return."
"Hunter's missing—we don't know if he's alive or dead."
Only muffled voices drift to her ears—unraveling meshes of sound tangled beyond recognition.
Who asks? Who answers?
"He was shot."
The nightmare crashes back—raw, scorching—in her mind, freezing her to the spot. Her heart hammers fiercely against her ribs, a deafening drum drowning out the world.
But one voice—low, haunting, almost demonic—pierces through the chaos in her mind, blurring the reality around her.
Ishmael's voice, echoing from the first time they met after their childhood separation, whispers like a curse:
"If you don't kill me this instant, I will hover around you—much like a shadow.
Everywhere.
Forever."